


Cider, Strawberries and the Non-Valentine

by High-Seas-Swan (FangLang)



Series: Cider!Killian [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Tumblr, Valentine's Day Fluff, cssv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangLang/pseuds/High-Seas-Swan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma just wants to queue up the next episode of Buffy on her Netflix and ignore Valentine's Day completely -- instead she finds herself at the annual Hard Cider Festival. There she finds more than just a drink at the High Seas Hard Cider booth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cider, Strawberries and the Non-Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for tennant-the-tigger in our CSSV gift exchange. She's a doll, go check her out!  
> This small idea grew into a monster -- I hope you enjoy part 1!

Emma pushes through the revolving door into the white-blue fluorescent lighting of the convention center lobby and expels a grateful breath after a quick glance around. There is no red, no hearts or cupids, just bare concrete walls and a crisp white banner announcing the Cider Festival in bold burgundy letters. There is a hum in the air of people milling about, waiting in line and shaking off the cold. She feels some of the tension ease from her body for the first time since she answered Ruby’s call. She is grateful to have found friends who know when to leave her alone and when she needs a kick in the ass. And when Ruby correctly guessed that Emma was queuing up another Netflix marathon of Buffy, Emma conceded to herself that her friend had picked the right night for the kick in the ass.

 

It wasn’t as though she was fundamentally against Valentine’s Day; she just wanted to treat it like any other Saturday. Any other Saturday, in her long list of single Saturdays of the last 14 months. She didn’t need a man, or flowers or chocolate -- Okay, maybe she is a little bitter towards the holiday and so she had allowed herself to give Ruby a little bit of a hard time.

 

_“Rubes, I don’t know…”_

_“Ems, come out! This Cider Fest sounds fun. We’ll have a few drinks – a girls’ night. Tink is coming into town.”_

_“I have some things I wanted –“_

_Ruby never let her finish._

_“If you watch Buffy and Spike tear that house down one more time, I swear I’m changing the Netflix password.”_

_Caught – Emma stays silent, picking lint off her worn sweatpants._

_“Perfect. Now go shower, do that beautiful wavy thing you do with your hair, and wear the lipstick I bought you. It is Valentines after all.”_

 

Emma brushes off the few snowflakes that stick to her crimson wool coat and pockets her gloves as her eyes scan the room. The second time around they fall on a blonde and brunette that seem to be doing the same, but looking at the wrong entrance. She shakes her long blonde hair out of the collar of her coat before making her way over. As she arrives between them, she drapes her arms over their shoulders before leaning in, announcing her presence. Her friends startle but turn with matching smiles, lips painted a deep red, mirroring her own. After quick hugs and greetings, they make their way over to the ticket booth.

 

“So are we keeping it classy or is someone crying tonight?” Emma asks, stepping up to the counter. She throws a look over her shoulder with a waggle of her eyebrows.

 

Ruby seriously considers the question, while Tink rolls her eyes, coming up beside Emma.

 

“I’m not crying on Valentine’s Day,” Tink declares and studies the prices on the board; two to four tickets per drink -- she quickly does the math. “Get… sixty tickets.”

 

The girls matching ruby lips drop open in silent surprise.

 

“Close your mouths; you look like blow up dolls. I said I wasn’t crying, not that I didn’t want to have a good time. You know these festivals; it’s at least two tickets per drink, and they barely fill them halfway. We’ll probably need more,” Tink explains her logic.

 

Ruby and Emma look at each other and shrug. Sixty tickets it is. 

 

They chatter about their day, as Emma leads the group through the large doors and into the main room. She stops so suddenly; she feels them bump into her back, but she doesn’t move as her eyes take in the vast room before her.

 

What. The. Hell.

 

The lighting is low, offering a soft glow, but allowing more than enough light to see the hearts adorning the walls and the pink streamers looped around and hung between the massive pillars. Bouquets of carnations and roses sit as centerpieces on tall pub tables throughout the room.

 

"Ugh. I can't escape it,” Emma complainS, eyeing the arch made of white, pink, and red balloons. Both her friends roll their eyes and move in ahead of her. Emma knows she's being a brat. It’s just decorations. She isn’t defined by her relationship (or lack thereof) status. “Good friends and drinks. Good friends and drinks,” she mutters under her breath, almost a mantra, before dragging her feet and slowly following behind.

 

She stops again when the light strains of a Coltrane jazz standard starts up, filtering through the room. Emma gives a curious look to Ruby who sends back a loopy sort of smile and shrugs. "When I’m taking a bath, or cooking dinner, bring on the jazz.”

 

“Or handling a bottle of wine to yourself,” Tink stage whispers. Emma gives her a playful shove.

 

“Look, I just thought this was going to be like the beer fest. Where's the rock music, exotic food and oh --" Emma trails off as a young man, orange-blonde curls in disarray, rounded glasses sliding down his nose, approaches with a tray of chocolate covered strawberries.

 

She wants to reach out and grab one, but if the deep breath the waiter just took is any indication, he has something to say first. Emma tries to wait patiently, smiles at the boy --

 

Boy? Man? Is he old enough to be in here? Just give me a strawberry!

 

At her smile, a blush rises to the apples of his cheeks, and he shakes his head and takes another deep breath before launching into what appears to be a practiced speech.

  
"Good evening, ladies. These strawberries are organically grown on the Jones farm and specially infused with High Seas Hard Cider. These here have one of our signature blends, Red Sky cider, a light rosé cider, perfect for someone looking for a cider similar to rosé wine. Its slightly tart taste mixes well with the sweet strawberries and of course they are dipped in rich dark chocolate. As they say, red sky at night ladies’ delight?”

 

Emma snorts at the cheesy line and watches as the man boy’s eyes dart from Emma to the strawberries and back to Emma. _All you had to say was chocolate, and I was sold, she thinks._

  
She reaches out and grabs the plumpest strawberry she can find on the platter and slips it into her mouth. As the flavors flood her taste buds, she lets out a groan that has the poor young waiter blushing brighter than the strawberries. Emma pretends to stagger back into the arms of her friends. She grips their wrists and looks at them with wide eyes.

 

“I think I just came. You have to try these. Could I possibly have one more?” Emma asks, bringing her hand to her lips.

  
Meanwhile, Ruby and Tink both grab strawberries and try to suppress their grins as the waiter stammers.

  
"Um, and... You can find strawberries, I mean... the cider..."

  
The waiter trails off as he watches Emma gently lick the chocolate off her index finger and thumb. She releases her thumb with a pop. Emma raises her brows at the waiter.  
  
"Of course, have as many as you like,” the waiter says, finally getting out a full sentence, practically shoving the tray at Emma. Emma thanks him and grabs a last strawberry before turning away, but the man-boy pipes up again.

 

“What I meant to say was you can taste all the different High Seas Hard Ciders at the Jones booth just over to your left.”

 

He looks quite proud of himself, and so Emma and the girls look over to their left and quickly spot the booth.

It’s emblazed with the same logo as the shirt the waiter is wearing; a caricature of an angry looking apple, cutlass and hook crisscrossing below, High Seas announced to the left. The booth is surrounded by people, four or five deep, all eyes on the man standing on the bar. He is holding his hand to his ear, pretending he can’t hear the crowd.

 

Emma can make out the words quite clearly.

 

“WALK THE PLANK! WALK THE PLANK!”

 

She scrunches her nose up at the words. Her eyes go back to the man who is now grinning widely, all white teeth and she’s pretty sure she spots dimples. The cheers get louder, and he reaches up to scratch behind his ear. Emma watches the muscles flex with the movement, notices his t-shirt tighten across his chest. He runs his hand through his dark, almost black hair before dropping down to one knee. He points to the crowd and a high pitch squeal sounds. A perky brunette steps forward and leans against the bar and watches with rapt attention as the dark haired showman proceeds to fill four shot glasses with different liquids and holds them up on a thin piece of wood.

 

Emma gets it now and has seen enough. She shrugs.

  
"Thanks, kid. Maybe we'll check it out later."

 

Emma, now knowing there are chocolate and sweets abound, brightens and links arms with the girls.

 

“Let’s get this night started,” she declares.

 

The young waiter just stares as they walk away.

 

"Emma, you just made and ruined that guy's day," Tink whispers, shaking her head.

 

“Huh?” Emma questions, unaware of the waiter watching them as her eyes have drifted back to High Seas. The man was now back behind the bar, taking tickets and pouring drinks.

 

He really did fill out that t-shirt well; maybe she would swing back around.

 

xxx

 

Emma watches her friends head towards the long line for the bathrooms before glancing down at her now empty glass. She lets it dangle from her fingers before gripping the handle and steeling herself.

 

It was time to visit High Seas Hard Cider.

 

Emma slides easily through the crowd, the alcohol working its magic through her veins. She feels light on her feet, and maybe just a little braver than usual, but she immediately scolds herself. How many women were at that booth earlier?

 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t just take a peek,” she mumbles, taking the last few steps and sliding up beside the booth, not immediately visible. She fishes through her purse for her tickets when she hears the waiter from before.

 

“Killian, you have to see her. She’s beautiful. I need to talk to her again.”

 

Emma smiles, at least someone found a Valentine.

 

“I’m sure she is, Archie. Now why don’t you give out a few more of those strawberries, the crowd is thinning out a little,” an accented voice placates and has Emma’s stomach tightening over the way the L's lilted. Her head snaps up, and she leans in a bit, immediately making eye contact with vivid blue eyes and loses her train of thought.

 

The bartender is even better looking up close, and Emma feels like a bit of a jerk for judging the man earlier. She is beginning to understand all those eager women.

 

His blue eyes openly study her without shame before crinkling at the edges when she pinches her lower lip with her teeth. A slow smile overtakes his face although before he has a chance to speak up, Archie, with his back to Emma, rattles on again.

 

“You don't understand. Her eyes man, her eyes, Killian. They were so green, like, like emeralds! And her hair. She's like an angel, with these long golden waves,” Archie trails off – lost in thought.

 

Killian nods but his attention is on Emma.

 

Archie absently grabs a strawberry from the platter –

 

“She had this tight black dress – and legs…”

 

“She had legs? That’s great news, mate,” Killian interrupts as his smile widens.

 

He raises one brow at the blonde woman waiting patiently off to the side. They seem to be locked in a staring contest, neither of them ready to speak up just yet and so he observes. He notes the bright green color of her eyes and begins to think that Archie’s girl and this heavenly patron are one in the same.

 

If it’s true, he can't blame boy; she is stunning. Her blonde hair tumbling down her back in loose curls, the curve of her red stained lips in a half smile, and a sleek black number hugging all her curves.

 

“And she had this cute little tattoo on the inside of her wrist.”

 

Emma’s eyes widen and without thinking go to her wrist, to the small flower that decorates it. She looks up and finds the bartender’s eyes have followed her gaze. She presses her wrist to her stomach, hiding the tattoo, but it’s too late.

 

“Oh god, these are good,” Archie groans around the strawberry. “OH! Oh! Do you know what she said when she had one?”

 

Emma’s eyes snap up once more, and her mouth opens to protest, but Archie is already stage whispering the answer.

 

“She said she came! Man, what I wouldn’t give to –” but before Archie can continue Killian cuts him off.

 

“Ahh, that’s bad form, lad,” Killian states with a glance over Archie’s shoulder except for this time Archie notices and turns. He nearly bobbles the whole platter of strawberries, mouth agape, taking Emma in. His mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out. “Alright, how about you go make another round with those,” Killian pats Archie on the shoulder as the boy drops his head and skulks away without another word.

 

The bartender watches the young man leave, giving Emma a moment to study him up close. His black hair is in sinful disarray, and he runs a hand over his short stubble before giving a small scratch behind his ear. He turns to face her, and her eyes follow his tongue as it runs along his bottom lip. She catches herself moments after she does it, but he notices -- the dimples she thought she’d spotted earlier come into full view. She feels the flush climb her neck and into the apples of her cheeks. She curses her traitorous body but forces herself to look up at him. Their eyes meet, and she’s happy to notice his Adam’s apple bob once, twice, before he leans his elbows on the counter, moving into her space.

 

“Hi,” Emma starts and stops. She wishes herself more eloquent but with the way his eyes are dancing with mischief she finds herself at a loss for words.

 

“Hi,” comes his singular response, the corners of his mouth twitching. She narrows her eyes at him for a beat and in a huff looks up at the menu.

 

_He wants to play this game -- I can (try to) play it too._

 

Emma tosses her last two tickets onto the counter and drops her glass down.

 

“I’ll take…the Clap of Thunder,” she decides on a whim and receives a snort from the man before her. “What? Do you not have any left?”

 

“Aye, we do, but that’s quite a strong cider. It might be too much for your delicate sensibilities,” he explains.

 

Emma is almost sure he is teasing, but she can’t help the way her body tightens, preparing to defend her choice.

 

She mimics his pose on the bar and raises an eyebrow.

 

“Excuse me? There is nothing delicate about me. I handle bail jumpers easily twice your size daily. I could have you on your back before you could…” Emma trails off as a downright wicked smile flashes across his face.

 

“Don’t,” she warns, but he is having too much fun watching her cheeks turn a comical shade of red.

 

“Love, you could have me on my ba--,” his words are cut off by her thumb which is now pressing up against his lips, her hand -- Emma looks down at her hand, to his eyes and back down to her hand.

 

“Oh, my God. I’m cupping your face. A stranger. My thumb is on your lips. What the hell am I doing?” Emma words rush out, to the bartender’s amusement, but she doesn’t remove her hand.

 

His lips turn up at the corners.

 

“Bad form,” she whispers, the tips of her fingers flexing a little against the surprisingly soft reddish brown stubble of his jaw.

 

Their eyes find each other again, and his soften as he gives her a small nod of concession. Before she can pull away or he can say anything, a crash and shattering glass has Emma jumping back. She doesn’t get far, as her hand is now clasped lightly between the two of his.

 

“I, I… I’m taking up a lot of your time. I’m sorry. You have a job to do; I’m just going to… go,” Emma stutters. She tries to take a step back, but his grip tightens.

 

“LIAM! Man the counter, won’t you?” he calls out, turning.

 

Emma follows his line of sight and spots for the first time another man in the booth. He is just a touch broader, his hair, lighter, curling at the edges but the smile is the same and if there was any doubt – his eyes are the giveaway. They are same bright blue, dancing over the two of them, as he grabs two new bottles and pops the caps with ease.

 

“Of course, brother,” he says with a wink and returns to the two patrons in front of him, filling their glasses. Emma had briefly forgotten there was anyone else around them.

 

“Where were we?” his voice brings her back to him, as does his thumb that is brushing against the inside of her wrist.

 

“I was going to slink away and never show my face in public again?” Emma offers and receives a shake of his head in response. She feels pressure against her pulse point and looks down to see two fingers, pressing gently. “Are you taking my pulse?” she asks incredulously.

 

“It’s racing,” he chooses as a response.

 

“Well, I’m embarrassed,” she retorts but doesn’t make a move yet to take her hand back.

 

“No. I don’t think it’s just that,” he looks up at her under long eyelashes.

 

 _Asshole_ , she thinks, no one should be allowed to be this – charming? Confident? Trying to find some semblance of her confidence, she tries for nonchalance.

 

“Let me guess…It’s all because of you.”

 

He turns her hand and brings it to his lips. Lingering a moment.

 

 _Shit_. Of course, it’s all because of him. Her heart is racing, and he knows it.

 

“Killian Jones pleased to make your acquaintance. My apologies for getting off to a rather rude start,” he states, playful tone intact and she begins to wonder if it’s the drinks or his voice giving her butterflies.

 

“Emma Swan,” she finds herself answering back.

 

He tests out her name. “Swan,” and runs his tongue across his bottom lip. “I quite fancy that,” he decides, tilting his head to study her. “I dare say; I would also fancy seeing you, how shall I put this… experience… another one of my strawberries.”

 

This time Emma manages to snag her hand back and regards him with wide eyes, hands clenching into fists at her sides. She couldn’t believe him. Well, she could, but he had still caught her off guard, and she was determined to regain her footing.

 

“ _Your_ strawberries?!” Emma snorts causing Killian’s eyebrows to shoot up. “You couldn’t possibly have prepared those strawberries. I can’t imagine you would even know where to begin making something so mouth-watering,” Emma pauses for effect, giving him a once over. “It takes time and patience, which you apparently lack, to coax flavors so sweet and succulent. The kind of flavor that bursts on your tongue and floods all your senses; from the tip of your tongue to the very center of my – I mean,” Emma pauses once again and reaches out to grab Killian’s wrist. He barely notices – his mouth hanging open, a reverent look in his eyes. It is Emma’s turn to press her fingers to his pulse point, and as she feels the beats match the drumming of her heart, she feels some satisfaction. “Yes, you clearly know what I mean and no, Killian Jones, I don’t think you’ll ever see me experience another strawberry.” With that, Emma drops his wrist, turns on her heel, and walks away.

 

It takes a moment for Killian to shake the lust-filled thoughts from his brain – he is sure he will never look at a strawberry the same way. As the clouds in his vision dissipate, he sees she’s already a few booths away.

 

“Swan!”

 

Killian looks longingly after the departing sway of her hips and over to his brother who is serving another two patrons. More people are beginning to line up and Killian glances down at his watch, seeing he still has another hour before the festival closes for the evening. He curses under his breath, knowing he could easily lose this opportunity and worrying he may have pushed a little too far.

 

“Go.”

 

Killian hears the order over the sound of more bottle caps popping off. He stares wide-eyed at his brother who is taking tickets and smiling at the group in front of him. Liam turns with the same smile, but Killian knows his brother and can see the exasperation in his eyes.

 

“Go talk to the girl and for the love of God, try to have a little more tact than Archie and then get your arse back here.”

 

Killian moves to his brother’s side and wraps his arm around his neck. Liam rolls his eyes skyward but doesn’t shrug him off.

 

“Folks, you will not find a better man. I couldn’t be leaving you in better hands,” Killian says to the onlookers. He gives his brother an affectionate rap on the chest and slips out the back of the booth.

 

It takes him a moment to find her; she is almost lost to the crowd, but he spots the blond waves cascading down her back and picks up his pace. He barely pauses, as he snags a rose out of a centerpiece bouquet and hurries after her. Without hesitation, he takes a step, cutting her off and causing a small squeak of surprise from her throat. Her hands come up to catch herself as she barrels into his chest and he feels her fingers flex against his t-shirt before she tilts her head up. Her eyes widen as her bottom lip drops, and his eyes are immediately drawn to it.

 

_What is it about this woman?_

Yes, she’s stunning, but he finds himself about the mystery she presents. She comes across equal parts fiery and hesitant. He has a feeling she could undue him with just one word but put him back together with a gentle touch. Then again, a lot was going on behind those green eyes, perhaps should wouldn’t say a thing but leave a mark. He wants to find out.

 

He feels his body sway closer. She notices and takes a small step back. He is not ready for her retreat, and as her hands haven’t left his chest, he feels safe in following suit, matching her step.

 

She huffs out a laugh.

 

“You don’t seem to have any issues with personal space, do you?” Emma asks, her voice suddenly breathless.   
   
“Says the woman whose hands are all over my person,” Killian responds back smoothly. He groans when she pulls her hands away as if burned, and takes a bigger step back. “That’s not what I… meant, ugh,” he grumbles countering her step but pulling up the flower between them. 

 

He closes his eyes a momentarily before taking a deep breath and offering her for the first time, a timid smile.

 

Her hand comes up of its own accord, her fingers closing around the thornless stem, brushing his in the process. She knows she’s in trouble when this new look he’s giving her makes her insides clench even more tightly than the innuendo-laced looks of before.

 

“What I meant to say was I apologize for my earlier behavior,” Killian starts but stops short at Emma’s mumble. He dips his head to try to catch her eyes that are currently on the rose stem. “Come again?” he asks.

 

Her eyes finally settled on his; his head still dipped close.

 

“I said, I don’t believe you,” she states, and although she tries to hide the smile pulling at her lips, he catches it.

 

“I beg your pardon,” he puts on a good show of looking insulted. He pulls the rose back to his chest, although her fingers don’t let go.

 

“You enjoyed every moment of our exchange back there. I don’t think you are sorry at all. Now, I’ll have my flower please,” Emma gives the stem a little tug and Killian throws his head back in a deep laugh.

 

“As the lady, wishes,” he says letting go of the flower and watches Emma bring the petals to her nose. “I really am sorry, but -- ”

 

“See? There’s always a but!” Emma interrupts, her voice rising, tapping his chest with the flower. He holds his hands up in surrender but fully steps into her personal space.

 

“Ah, see now – that’s the issue; how can a man not desire to see the way your eyes flash and the color rise high in your cheeks when you get a little flustered. You are ravishing,” he clarifies, causing Emma to shake her head and bite her lip, trying to stop the sudden grin from spreading. He brings his lips to her ear. “I teased a little too much, and for that I am sorry.”

 

This time she is sure of the sincerity in his voice and locks eyes with him as he pulls back from her ear but stays close. He may not be touching her, but she can feel his breath close to her lips and his warmth against her skin.

 

“Stay after closing? Come to our booth. Have a drink, talk?” he asks, reaching out and tucking a flyaway curl behind her ear. Emma visibly shivers, but thankfully he doesn’t comment on it.

 

Emma takes a deep breath.

 

“I don’t know –“ she starts off, but Ruby chooses that moment to interrupt.

 

“That thing she does, the deep breath, that’s her tell,” Ruby announces behind Killian’s shoulder. He glances back at her, raising an eyebrow but doesn’t move away from Emma. “That means, I really want to take you up on your offer, but I’m nervous.”

 

“What’s Emma nervous about?” Tink asks coming up beside them, straw swaying in her empty drink. She looks to Ruby before studying Killian and Emma.

 

Emma knows the embarrassment is rolling off her in waves and everyone seems to be enjoying it. She takes another deep breath, which immediately tips off Tink.

 

“Oh! Her nervous tell. She wants to do the thing,” Tink declares, eyes dancing between Killian and Emma. “Emma. Do the thing,” Tink adds, giving Killian a good once over. Ruby snorts and comes around to wrap her arm around her drunk friend.

 

“We’ll just be over here,” Ruby motions off to the side, pulling the small blond with her.

 

“Yes, Emma. Do the thing,” Killian says in a hushed tone, and she feels his hand suddenly at her hip.

 

 _How is he so warm?_ She can feel the heat from his hand through the fabric of her dress, and she pictures having that hand against her bare skin.

 

“Ok,” she whispers and feels his fingers squeeze on her hip. Goosebumps appear on her skin.

 

“Yeah?” he wants to make sure.

 

“Yes.”

 

His grin is wide, and he gives a last tight squeeze to her hip before letting go.

 

“Just come around to the booth once they start ushering people out. Say, 45 minutes?”

 

She can’t help but match his grin as he takes a few steps backward. He waits for her to say ok one more time before giving her a nod and jogs back to his booth. Thankfully, Emma thinks, the girls wait until he is out of earshot before they start peppering her with questions.

 

xxx

 

The crowd has thinned out. The last few people toss their small plastic cups into garbage cans as they head for the exit. Emma says goodbye to Ruby and Tink and starts walking tentatively to the center of the room, glancing over her shoulder at her friends every few steps. She hides a smile as she sees them by the door, wildly gesturing for her to keep walking. Ruby holds up her cell phone, assuring her friend that she is only a phone call away. With a nod, Emma faces forward and allows her strides to become more confident as she makes her way back to High Seas.

 

It’s not that she doesn’t want to stay. She actually has to keep her pace in check, lest she breaks out into a jog, but she is still a little anxious. This is not something that Emma does; she does not turn into a neurotic mess around men, and she has not felt an attraction quite like this before.

 

Rounding a corner, Emma spies Killian, stretching to retrieve a box and her eyes immediately travel the sliver of skin visible where his t-shirt has lifted and exposed his stomach, the line of hair trailing down. She closes her eyes and shakes the thoughts out of her head.

 

She certainly does not entertain the idea of taking off all their clothes and finding ways to make their pulse race, without a care who was around but here she is, doing just that.

 

She takes another few steps before a security guard stands before her, indicating the festival was closed and she would have to be on her way. She opens her mouth to protest, but Killian is already there, clasping her hand and slipping a festival pass over her head.

 

“Apologies mate, but she’s with us. High Seas manager and all that,” Killian explains tapping the pass. They don’t wait to see if the security guard has any questions; Killian is already tugging her along. He throws her a toothy smile and leads her to the back of the booth. Emma finds herself squeezing his hand tighter, her heart racing faster than it has in a long time. She forgot how good it felt to see someone so happy to see her, to have someone want to be in her personal space.

 

Once inside the booth, she glances around, not sure what to do with herself. Killian isn’t helping matters, as he appears content just to look at her.

 

“You stayed,” comes his simple statement.

 

“You asked,” she whispers back.

 

A throat clears, and they are reminded they are not yet alone. They turn to see his brother regarding them with amusement, a damp rag in his hand.

 

“Emma, I presume?” he asks, tossing the rag onto the bar and extending his hand. Emma is forced to drop Killian’s, but he stays close as she shakes his brother’s hand with a nod. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Liam, Killian’s better looking, and much more charming older brother.”

 

Emma stifles a laugh behind her hand and sees Killian roll his eyes out the corner of hers.

 

“Then you must also be the brains behind this operation?” she asks.

 

Liam laughs and points to her, turning towards his brother.

 

“I like her,” he says, as he drapes an arm around her shoulder. “Of course I am. I just have him around to keep him out of trouble. Now let me show you how we – oh he looks quite put out now, doesn’t he?” Liam asks, tilting his head towards Killian. Emma follows suit, grinning at the narrowed look Killian is giving his brother.

 

“I thought you were leaving,” Killian’s questions comes out more like a suggestion.

 

“Well, --” he looks down at Emma in thought.

 

“Get out of here, you prat,” Killian says with an exasperated laugh.

 

Liam cracks a last smile and brings her hand to his lips. _Ah, so this is where he gets it_ , thinking of Killian’s earlier moves.

 

“Til we meet again,” he says against her knuckles and leaves with a wink.

 

She waits until he is out of the booth before turning back to Killian.

 

“So now that you have me alone, what are you going to do?”

 

He ponders the question, moving in on her but she retreats a few steps, her back bumping into the bar. His hands cage her in on either side, as his body is all but pressed against her.

 

“I can think of many things I could do,” he says, leaning in so his lips are at her ear. Emma holds her breath, waiting. “But first you get to watch me clean this bloody place and indulge me with a few facts about yourself, yeah?”

 

He pulls back; one eyebrow popped up in question. She can’t help the laugh that bubbles out and feels herself relax.

 

“Yes, I think I can manage that.”

 

“Good.” He studies her a moment, as she leans against the bar, enjoying her in his space – a space usually reserved for just he and Liam. Yes, he is thoroughly enjoying the sight and so he tells her.

 

“Swan, you look quite lovely back here.”

 

She takes the compliment with a coquettish bow of her head, her blush betraying how much the words have an effect on her, and he takes a step back, giving her a last study.  


“Very lovely,” he says with a nod and then claps his hands together. “Alright, let me get this done so we can get out of here.”

 

He looks a bit out of sorts, lost in his head, before shaking it off and beginning to pull out cases, sliding the left over empties inside and finding a rhythm. She knows she’s expected to tell him a little about herself but the silence is comfortable, and she finds she likes watching him work. She is curious about what goes into this kind of event. Is it just he and his brother? Or is it a big family operation? And then another thought crosses her mind. Where are they based? People often travel from far for festivals like these. She suddenly realizes this is crucial information and feels it weighing on her chest; she can’t help herself.

 

“Where do you live?” she blurts out. Killian pauses as he counts the unopened boxes. “I mean, where is High Seas based?”

 

She sees a mischievous look cross his features, but this time he seems to think better of it and his expression changes to something softer the longer he watches her. He pulls up to full height, bringing a box with him, placing it on the bar beside her.

 

“Now I thought you agreed to tell me about yourself,” he says casting a sideways glance at her. She almost takes the bait, lets him get a rise out of her for avoiding the question, but she sees the way he’s biting his lip, daring her voice to rise. She shakes her head, looking away but quickly feels his warm hand squeeze her arm.

 

“Storybrooke, Maine. Less than two hours from here. It’s quite a scenic drive, something one could easily do on the weekend, I would imagine,” he offers, and she allows herself to picture what it could be like. Emma sees the winding highway, the tall trees encroaching along the edges, alone to her thoughts in her yellow Bug. She imagines she would feel as she does now: a tight ball of anticipation in her stomach, her fingers itching to touch. She stops herself from finishing the thought, afraid she is only embarrassing herself further with these desires of something more. He hasn’t said anything else and so she finally looks back at him.

 

As she does, she expects to see his eyebrows raised suggestively or his tongue dancing along his bottom lip, but it’s neither of those things. Instead, there is an earnest gaze, an honest hopefulness in his blue eyes. She nods in agreement and feels herself leaning towards him. His thumb brushes gently over her arm, small goose bumps appearing and she knows then she could end this moment with her lips on his. She could turn and take a step closer, run her hand up his arm and let her fingers follow the line of his neck before slipping into his hair. And then there would be that pause, the one right before the kiss. Where your lips are almost touching but someone needs to make the final move. Where your breath mingles, and you feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

 

“Emma,” she hears her name whispered on his lips and discovers that her gaze has already dropped to his. Turning, she desperately wants to be the one to close the distance but instead finds her thumb once again pressed softly against them. Her eyes briefly flick over to the clock across the room, and an idea springs to mind.

 

“Not yet,” she responds. His eyes darken, narrowing and just as she is about to pull her hand away, he catches her thumb between his teeth, clamping down. “Oh!” she lets out a small squeak of surprise, eyes widening before she feels the pressure lessen and the tip of his tongue touches the pad of her thumb before letting go.

She drops her hand to his chest and gives pause. She has absolutely no idea what she is doing.

 

A part of her wants to pull him down to the floor and forget about everything else, her body trembles at the mere thought. Except she is also thinking of road trips and learning more about him. Her mind wonders to how maybe this could be something.

 

He appears content to follow her lead, not pushing, merely watching the emotions play across her features. He does raise an eyebrow at her silence.

 

She curses the mental tug-o-war she has going on.

 

“I have no what I’m doing,” she finally admits aloud, giving him a helpless shrug but he wants none of that. He gives her a roll of his eyes and returns to their earlier position, caging her against the bar. He lifts her hair, gently ushering it back over her shoulders, freeing her neck of any obstruction. His hands cup her neck, his thumbs at her pulse points and he makes sure she is looking directly at him when he speaks.

 

“Love, I dare say I disagree. You are _doing_ perfectly,” he teases her with her words while teasing her skin with his fingers.

 

“I quite enjoy not knowing which reaction I will coax from you next…” he trails off, letting his thumb graze the column of her throat. She swallows hard against the sensation, need tightening in her belly, only getting worse when he makes a low humming sound.

 

“I can’t seem to settle on one thing to ask you because just as I have one, you give me a look, and I either forget all about it, or it begs another more important question. Yes, like that,” he says as her eyes widen at his revelation.

 

“Also the simple fact that I’ve had to count these bottles four times because all I can think about are your lips…” he pauses, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “So please believe me when I say, I am positive this is going well.”

 

He drops his hands to her hips, and all she can think is, _oh, he’s good._ She tries to take a step closer but comes up short in her quest as his hands hold her in place. Before she can admit to some wandering thoughts of her own, he tilts his head in consideration.

 

“Let me rephrase; it’s going very well, apart from some of the uncouth things I said at the very beginning.”

 

It is Emma’s turn to roll her eyes, and the words slip out without thought.

 

“No, I think it was going well even then. I’m beginning to believe that you could be downright rude and it would touch the right spots.”

 

His eyebrows pop up in surprise, and she sees a challenge in his eyes.

 

“I’ll remember that.”

 

She answers his gaze head on and only as the rumbling of a janitor’s cart rolls close is the look dropped – for the moment. The sound pauses at the back of the booth. A head pops in, checking to see if there is any trash. They jump apart as Killian excuses himself with a squeeze to her hip and leaves to grab what needs to be thrown out.

 

Emma takes the quiet moment to run her hand along the clean bar, stopping to study one of their business cards. She grins at the Jones Brothers Orchard logo emblazoned on the back. She tries to imagine what it would be like to see the two men in their element, working together. She finds herself getting a little wistful knowing how lucky they are to have each other but at the sound of Killian returning she drops the card and returns to her spot at the bar.

 

“I just need to get these into the fridge and then I think we are out of here,” he explains tugging open the box he had placed on the counter. “So tell me, Emma Swan, if you weren’t here with me, would what you be doing with your Saturday night?” he asks, grabbing four bottles between his fingers and bending down to the fridge. She hears the clink of bottles sliding in and decides on honesty.

 

“Oh, that’s easy. Netflix.”

 

He glances up at her response and instead of adding a bottle, pulls one out from the back.

 

“Doctor Who?” he inquires somewhat eagerly. He straightens up and comes to her with a bottle of Cat’s Paw Cider.

 

“Buffy,” she admits, and he nods like it’s a valid choice and she thinks she might be in love. He holds up the bottle for her to study.

 

 “I’m sorry to admit I have never watched an episode of Doctor Who,” she confesses. He tsks her and mumbles something about needing to remedy that. He shakes his head in disappointment but quickly flashes her a smile.

 

“More on your appalling lack of Doctor Who later. For now, I seem to recall you dropping two tickets and disappearing on me. It seems only fair you get what you paid for but do you trust me now?”

 

She makes a show of frowning at the bottle. He pulls it back against his chest, affronted.

 

“I’m a professional, Ms. Swan. I would suggest you put a little faith in me. When you come to the orchard…” her eyes flash to his, and he gives her nothing more than a wink before continuing. “You may try all of our flavors.”

 

She makes a show of holding up her hands in surrender, motioning for him to go on.

 

“Yes, I trust you,” she whispers and laughs at his small fist pump of victory. He pops the cap with a flourish and just before he hands it to her he pulls it back again.

 

“You will note this is more of a dry cider, very gentle with a hint of raspberry but still keeping with the more traditional English ciders of my homeland.”

 

She enjoys seeing this side of him; she can understand why they had so many people around their booth earlier in the evening. Speaking of time, she glances at the clock again, feeling a little more eager as the hands creep closer to the midnight hour. She takes the offered bottle and glances at the label.

 

“But why is it called Cat’s Paw? I thought you guys had a nautical theme going.” She scrunches up her nose trying to make the connection. She looks up when she feels a tap on her nose.

 

“Cat’s Paw _is_ a nautical term. It’s what some call a light bit of wind on a calm surface of the sea,” he explains and adds, “Sort of like this.” He draws the tips of his fingers down her arm and gives the bottle a little tap. “Bottoms up?” 

 

Without any more hesitation, Emma brings the bottle to her lips and takes a deep sip. Her eyes close and she enjoys the burst of flavor from the drink. She licks her lips of the remaining cider, and when she opens her eyes, he gives her a knowing look.

 

“Okay. That’s amazing. I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” she admits and hands him the bottle. He takes a sip of his own before giving it back and returning to empty the last bottles from his box.

 

“Do you sail or is all of this for show?” she asks trying to put the pieces of Killian Jones together.

 

“Aye, I do. Liam was in the Royal Navy and introduced me to my love of the sea growing up. Helped me build my first sloop when I was fifteen or so. She still sails today,” his answer comes quickly, tinged with pride and love. He closes the fridge door, dusts off his hands and looks around and appears to spot something else that needs attention. “Last thing,” he mumbles, touching her elbow as he passes. He untaps one keg, moving it over and hefts another in place. Her eyes move the flexing muscles in his arms.

 

“Unfair,” she whispers under her breath.

 

“Have you?”

 

She hears the question but is lost in thought to watching his body in motion. She means to take a deep pull of her drink and is surprised to find it already empty. She pouts and hears a soft chuckle.

 

“Huh?” she asks, her brain finally catching up.

 

“Have you ever been sailing?” he asks again, changing the lines on the kegs.

 

“Mmm, I’ve been on a ferry?” she offers, taking a few steps to lean next to where he’s working. He snorts at her answer, gives the line a last twist, pushing the keg back in place.

 

“That is not quite what I had in mind,” he responds as he rises to full height. He takes the empty from her fingers, dropping it into a box below the counter. He leans on the counter next to her, hips and shoulders brushing and fishes his cell from his front pocket. He scrolls through a few pictures before landing on a small sailboat, he and his brother standing proudly beside it. “Something like this,” he offers and lends her his phone.

 

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. I’m sure I’d end up overboard. I’ll stick to dry land,” Emma says picturing rough waters, letting a shiver run through her. He notices and turns, bringing his hands to her arms running them up and down to try and chase the chill.

 

“I’m a hell of a captain. I have yet to lose a passenger to the sea. You would be safe with me…” he pauses his assurances to reach for his black leather coat and drapes it over her shoulders, helping her with the arms. The shiver that runs through her this time has nothing to do with the chill in the air. It is rather the dark look in his eyes and the way he is tugging on the collar of the coat, urging her closer. She slips the phone into a pocket and brings her hands to his forearms, squeezing tightly.

 

“Promise?” she whispers, the word almost stuck in her throat. The intense feeling surprising her, the emotion only deepening when his eyes don’t leave hers.

 

“Promise,” he whispers back, and she finds herself hoping fervently that this isn’t about sailing at all. His hands leave the collar and slip closer to cup her face. She doesn’t want to look away, but now that the idea is in her head, she can’t resist. She gives a quick flick of her eyes to the clock but this time he catches her. “What are you…” he trails off and follows where she looked. He turns back to her with a tilt of his head and watches as her cheeks fill, bright pink.

 

“It’s nothing,” she mumbles and tries to distract him by taking a step in closer, closing the distance between their two bodies but he hangs back, hands still cupping her face, still studying her.

 

“Earlier you said not yet… now you are watching the clock…” Killian mumbles, trying to unravel the puzzle going on behind her eyes. “But I know you want to kiss me,” he says confidently and raises his eyebrows at her shrug. “But…”

 

Emma struggles with her next move. She should just kiss him and shut him up before he realizes –

 

“Are you waiting for midnight!?” he finally exclaims, and her eyes flash to him, any words of denial lost on her tongue, the giveaway. He staggers back pretending to be wounded, hand over heart. “Do you not want to be my Valentine, Emma?” he asks, tongue in cheek. She lets out her breath on a huff, stuffing her hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

 

“It’s not… It’s just; it’s a stupid holiday, and I didn’t want our story to start…” she trails off realizing her choice of words. His eyes are bright with laughter, and she feels like an idiot. “Never – never mind,” she stammers, clearly feeling like she has said too much and slips passed him leaving the booth in a hurry.

 

“Emma!” he calls her name out on a laugh. “Love, wait!” he pleads again, but she doesn’t slow her stride, no destination in mind other than distance. She can’t think straight with his laughing eyes reading her like a book. She needs a moment to catch up to herself. She takes a few more steps and finally relents, letting her shoulders slump and stops. His curses carry easily across the now desolate room, as does the slamming of a door, the jingling of keys and then a stillness falls.

 

The large room is strangely silent with no one left cleaning, no laughter or voices; Emma quickly realizes they are alone. They had been so caught up in one another; everyone else must have hurried out.

 

 _To be with their Valentine?_ Emma wonders a little darkly, but mainly, she is ashamed she stupidly let her moment pass. She hates the way her mind is already replaying all the ways she’s screwed up.

 

All of her muscles tighten as the sound of Killian’s footfalls approach. Childishly she shuts her eyes, thinking if she doesn’t see his look of disappointment, it’s not really there. She immediately feels his presence, and she can guess he is inches in front of her. Stubbornly, she still doesn’t open her eyes. She wants to say; see, I have no idea what I am doing, but as she struggles to find her voice, he surprises her.

 

She hears her name seconds before she feels it pressed to her forehead on a whisper. His lips linger, warm and patient as his hand finds hers. He urges her fingers to loosen from the tight fist she didn’t know she had made and his fingers slip between hers. He gives her a squeeze and pulls back, his other hand going to her hair, tucking another errant strand behind her ear.

 

The string of intimate gestures leaves her reeling, the emotion of a long forgotten feeling lodging in her throat. She swallows hard and knows it’s time.

 

Her eyes blink her open, and he is there waiting, blue eyes soft and searching.

 

“There you are,” he whispers with a lopsided smile and dimple.

 

She doesn’t understand his patience, the warm way he’s looking at her. She’s come to expect the games people play and all the hidden stories behind their eyes – _hell_ , she thinks, she is guilty of it right now but there is an ease and honestly about this man that she doesn’t know how to handle. She realizes she can begin by apologizing and trying more honesty herself.

 

“Sorry,” she whispers back, hand reaching out to smooth down the strap of the messenger bag he is wearing across his chest. She looks up at him under long eyelashes, watches him swallow and wet his lips.

 

_Yup, I’m an idiot. Should have kissed him when I had the chance._

 

Her hand tightens around the strap, ready to pull him down to her level but he’s already taking a few steps backward, giving her hand a tug, motioning towards the exit with his head.

 

“Rubbish, there’s nothing to be sorry about. Let’s get out of here. Find a quiet spot where I can regale you with exciting tales of my time on the high seas of the Atlantic,” he gives her another tug and her feet follow as her eyebrows raise. He gives her a sheepish shrug. “Alright, perhaps merely tales of sailing on Casco Bay but I assure you I can make it sound quite thrilling. You’ll be calling me the Pirate of Casco Bay in no time.”

 

The laugh that slips past her lips catches them both by surprise. She bites her lip against it but there’s no use, the humor dances in her eyes and as his smile echoes hers, the feeling just rises. She covers her mouth with her free hand, and he shakes his head at her.

 

“It looks very much like you are laughing at me, Emma. Can you not picture it, me, the dashing pirate?” as he asks, he strikes a pose, staring off into the distance.

 

“In your little sloop? Sure, swashbuckling too I suppose,” she asks and reaches up to tap the little black gem he is wearing as a stud earring. He slants his eyes at her and sets his mouth, but she can see the muscle in his cheek twitching, wanting to give in.

 

“Oh just wait. You won’t be able to resist me,” he gets out before the smile breaks through.

 

He is about to pull her through the threshold into the main hall when she hears it. The sound is extremely faint, but it stops her in her tracks. Her hand tightens in his, keeping him in place.

 

_One._

 

“What is it?” he asks as she strains to listen, sure enough, she hears the sound again, a bell tolling in the distance.

 

_Two. Three. Four._

“Can you hear it?” she asks and watches his face as he struggles to pick up the sound. He closes his eyes, and she holds her breath.

 

_Five. Six._

 

On seven she can tell he finally hears something and with eight there’s recognition. His eyes open and find hers, unwavering in their contemplation.

 

_Nine. Ten._

 

It is eleven when she makes the decision to pull him off to the side and twelve when she drops his hand and uses both of hers to give him a light shove.

 

“Oof.”

 

He expels a breath of surprise when his back hits the wall. The words vanish from his tongue when she steps in between his legs. She rises on tiptoes and enjoys the slide of her body against his; her breasts press against his chest, her arms wrap loosely around his neck and her lips find his ear. Her heart is racing but gone is the anxiousness. She decides to embrace the idea that there is something between them.

 

“Killian?” she whispers his name soft against his ear and feels satisfaction when the hands that span her waist tense, fingers digging in.

 

“Mmm?” comes his mumbled response.

 

She lets her lips press briefly to the area below his ear, before dragging over his jaw. She only leans back a little so she can see his eyes watching her with a heavy-lidded gaze.

 

“It’s midnight,” she says, her voice still quiet, her breath coming quicker.

 

“That it is,” he responds immediately, eyes still firmly on her own.

 

“So it’s not Valentine’s Day anymore.”

 

“Aye, ‘tis no longer.”

 

“Which means…” she hesitates, and it is all he needs to push him to action. He reacts quickly, changing their positions. His hands still tight on her waist, direct her against the wall, his body pinning her in place.

 

“Which means… No. More. Bloody. Waiting,” he utters before finally crushing his mouth to hers.

 

The kiss is urgent and rough and immediately has her arching into him. He groans, deepening the kiss, his desperation clear. His tongue sweeps across her bottom lip before his teeth follow, biting down hard enough to elicit a small moan that has her opening up to him. His tongue sweeps inside, tasting, tangling with hers. Her hand is in his hair, tugging, nails scratching his scalp. He groans into the kiss, hands dragging over her hips to cup her ass. Emma tightens one arm around his neck, pulling herself closer and feels his hands slip lower.

 

_He’s not, he’s – he is._

 

Her mouth slips from his in a shocked hiccup as he lifts her off the ground like she weighs nothing, her legs wrapping around him automatically. She blinks down at him, eyes wide, lips swollen. He groans again at the sight, his forehead falling to her collarbone. His lips move to find the hollow of her throat and a shudder runs through her as his tongue darts out to taste.

 

She feels his quick breaths against her skin and dips her head to kiss any exposed skin she can find; the underside of his jaw, his neck.

 

“I didn’t mean to… we should get that drink before -- Emma!” Killian tries to string together a complete sentence. He attempts to be a gentleman but quiets when he feels Emma’s teeth against the skin just above his collarbone. He pulls away and finds her lips in a pout, her eyes narrowed.

 

“You shouldn’t be talking. What you should be doing is putting your tongue in my.” Her sentence ends abruptly as he takes her suggestion seriously and once again covers her mouth with his. She doesn’t know how long they kiss like that but he finally breaks from her lips to take quick gulps of air and still her lips chase after his. His chuckle ends in a growl when as he shifts his hands on her thighs and he comes into contact with skin, her dress having ridden up, exposing the lace tops of her thigh highs. His head drops to her shoulder once again as he mumbles into her skin.

 

“Really?” he asks.

 

“What?” she huffs out a little impatient. “They make me feel… sexy,” she explains as he slowly lowers to the ground. She keeps her hands on his shoulders for balance, and he bends, pulling her dress back in place. He glances up at her, his hand giving a brush to the inside of her thigh before standing.

 

“Sexy,” he whispers and places a light kiss to her lips.

 

“Beautiful,” he repeats the kiss and waits for her eyes to open and find his.

 

“And driving me crazy.”

 

She bites her lip and shrugs.

 

He presses a kiss to her forehead and finds her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. He takes a few steps backward and gives her a little tug.

 

“Come on, non-valentine. Let me buy you a drink. We can find a place where you can slide up beside me and whisper in my ear about what makes you feel sexy. Yeah?”

 

He gives her a wink, inciting an eye roll but she lets herself fold into his side and comfortably falls into step with him, as he guides them to their next stop.


End file.
